On the Wings of Freedom
by purebladed
Summary: OOTP Alternate Ending- Harry defeats Voldemort in the DOM, and becomes the Boy-Who-Triumphed. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters are still after him. Harry has to battle misconceptions, new foes, and for the right to live as his own man. No Slash.
1. Prologue

**Rating: **T (as seen above)

**Pairings:** None at this particular moment. No Slash.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, and do not make any money off of him. Note: This is FANfiction. If it were anything else, then it wouldn't be here.

**Author's note: **While this is an alternate ending to OOTP, it is still HBP and DH compliant (to an extent). I'm trying to stick to cannon, but after you read as much fanfiction as I have, you sometimes forget what really happened. So, with no further ado...

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"They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape—

And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move….

'_Kill me now, Dumbledore….'_

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again.…

'_If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy….'_

_Let the pain stop, _thought Harry. _Let him kill us….End it, Dumbledore….Death is nothing compared to this…._

_And I'll see Sirius again…_

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creature's coils loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying facedown on the Floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood."

_The Order of the Phoenix _pg 816

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"_I'll see Sirius again,"_ Harry thought through his pain. His godfather was dead, his parents were dead, Cedric was dead… and now he was dying. The monster in him writhed as the bittersweet grief laced through him, but Harry, overcome with emotion, held him still.

His godfather, falling, the bark of his last laugh on his lips…the grief was all-consuming, a bright blue fire in his soul. The agony from the coils lessened as his sorrow grew, but Harry did not notice. His physical torture was waylaid by the emotional torment; his body's pain was nothing to the way his heart was splitting.

A keening noise cut through the air, high and shrieking, as the monster struggled to get away. "_No, you can't go. I need to see Sirius. I need to see Sirius. You CAN'T GO!"_

The sound grew louder, but Harry knew that if the creature left, then he would not die. "_I want to die! I want to see Sirius! I NEED TO SEE HIM!"_

But then, as thoughts of death invaded and he was ready to give in, his friends appeared in his mind's eye. Hermione smiled, face glowing in front of a cauldron in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom; Ron beamed, carried on the shoulders of his teammates.

The howl reached a fever pitch, but Harry ignored it.

Ginny stood strong, eyes flashing fire as she held her wand at the ready; Luna stared serenely, a half-smile on her face.

He felt the monster throwing itself at the walls in his mind, using its fading strength, struggling to get away. Harry would not let it. He and the creature were one; their body and mind and soul and pain were shared, and it _had to know_ what he felt.

Neville stumbled but caught himself, a blush lighting his cheeks; the twins zoomed away on their brooms, laughing and escaping to freedom.

His grief, still burning, grumbled in his soul, but his love and joy at his friends' happiness soared above it. He knew that the creature was dying, just as he knew he had been dying, and his mind faltered for a moment. How could he love and live, and let someone else die from that?

And then, he remembered the Mirror of Erised. His mother and father had smiled at him, knowing that their sacrifice of love had saved him. In Snape's Penseive, they had been nothing more than children, but when the choice came, they chosen love and death, so that he could choose love and life.

And Sirius had died to save him.

Harry felt something in him shatter. A wave of power coursed through him, ascending through his heart and soul like a liquid Phoenix song, igniting his senses with love and hope and joy and everything good in the world. The very air rippled with the magic that was erupting in him. He had power and he was power and the creature _would not escape him. _It had caused him to hurt, and his friends to hurt, and his family to hurt and it _would not get away again._

He flew through his own mind, where the creature was already in his death throws, and he felt the darkness. The creature was incomplete, his evil tainting other places, allowing him to live forever.

Harry would not let it.

He ripped through its mind, searching and tearing and then he found them: weak, tiny lines of darkness, connecting the evil to the rest of itself. He smiled grimly, the magic twirling around him. _Break_, he commanded, and it did his will.

A cup, a locket, a snake… all crumbled when facing the heat of his passion, the burning of his heart, the magic in his soul. When the last line had been severed, an inhuman cry of fury, pain and loss split the air, but Harry would not let it convince him. Too many had died so that he could live, but there was one who still had to go.

_**"Die,"** _he whispered, unable to say the word any louder.

And the creature, too weak to live, breathed its last.

Harry collapsed, fulfilling the deep, carnal knowledge that he had done his duty, and let the darkness overtake him.

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	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **No, the ownership of Harry Potter did not change since the Prologue. If it did, why would I of all people get it?

**Author's Note: **Yes, I posted the Prologue and the Chapter 1 together. Celebrate, because two chapters at once will most likely never happen again.

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For the first time in a long time, Harry did not dream. He awoke slowly, blinking lazily, as he could not recognize where he was. Everything was blurry and spinning, however, so that could be the reason. He promptly shut his eyes, combating nausea.

After a few moments, he recovered and groped for his glasses. He found them to be on his left, which immediately ruled out the spare room at Privet Drive, the Gryffindor dorm, and the Burrow. Besides, the room was too white to be any of those places. However, when he slid on his glasses, he realized he wasn't in the Hospital Wing either.

_"Where am I?"_

He skimmed the room, looking for clues to his location. Of course, he couldn't see much from where he was lying, but every time he attempted to sit up, his arms had collapsed underneath him, so he didn't have much of a choice. The room was white and extremely bright, which made Harry blink a little too often for his liking. It was large and looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. It was mostly likely because of his angle, he mused, as he was probably standing and looking down at the bed when he had been here instead of looking up.

With that thought, images flashed in his brain. A corridor, a snake, Mr. Weasley… St. Mungo's! He was at St. Mungo's.

With that mystery solved, he settled back into his pillows, mind racing. "_How did I get here? The last thing I remember was Umbridge and…"_ The thestrals, the fallen prophecy, the battle, Sirius falling…

Harry's heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. Sirius died. He was dead. He was dead and wasn't coming back. It was all his fault. The grief washed over him, an oddly familiar feeling, and then Harry remembered.

Voldemort was gone.

Harry froze, mind coming to a halt. Voldemort was gone. He was gone forever; there was no way he could come back. Harry didn't have to fight him or think of ways to fight him or do anything else because _Voldemort was gone._

His hand snapped upwards, feeling his forehead for his scar. He felt it, but it was noticeably not as deep, and there was no pain coming from it. Voldemort was really gone. He was free.

He didn't know how long he lay there, just staring at the ceiling, a feeling of complete relaxation overwhelming him. His burden was gone, his arch-nemesis was gone, and he felt as if he could fly off the bed. He was at peace.

"…and so I have to give a few potions to Mr. Potter and…Mr. Potter! You're awake!"

Harry glanced towards the door, seeing a portly nurse pushing a cart with several vials on it. They exchanged stares for a moment; his was slightly curious and resigned, and hers was surprised, astonished and faintly rebuking.

"What are you doing awake? You should be resting!" She scolded, bustling over. Harry wondered whether all of his nurses would be large, demanding and bustling, but his thoughts were cut off as a vial was held in his face. "You'll need these potions to recover after facing He-Who-Was-Vanquished."

Harry did not know if it was a side-effect of being perfectly at peace, but he was faintly bemused at Voldemort's new title. In fact, confirmation that the Dark Lord had really been defeated was something he had been unknowingly craving, and it had just been quenched. He sighed and took the vial.

The nurse continued her tirade. "You had completely burnt yourself out; there was barely any magic left in you to heal. Combating magical exhaustion is not difficult, but with the amount of magic we needed for you…" She paused and pursed her lips, putting the empty vial back and giving him another one. "The fact that you were under-weight and malnourished did not help your restoration at all, so we had to take care of that as well."

She gave him the last vial, and Harry grimaced. The combined taste of the potions was worse than chewing on one of Dudley's sweaty socks, not that he ever had, but it was comparable the same.

"I want you to rest, Mister Potter, and you better not even try to get out of bed. If it was not crucial for the Minister and the Chief Warlock to visit, I would have given you a Sleeping Draught." The woman smiled briefly, and Harry was astonished to see how beautiful she must have been in her youth. "And thank you Mister Potter, for taking care of that evil monster. He got my husband in the first war, and you don't know how much it means to us all for him to be finally gone."

She tapped the back of his hand fondly and began to walk out of the room, not giving him a chance to speak. At the door, she paused, back in her demanding, Medi-witch role, "And you feel any pain or dizziness, you are to call for me right away; do you understand, young man?" At Harry's speechless, wide-eyed nod, she beamed and left the room.

Listening intently, Harry heard the rush of the Floo in the other room and he knew that both men had been summoned. He felt his fingers twisting the sheets in apprehension. He knew he did the world a service in defeating Voldemort, but it didn't stop the feeling of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

He attempted to sit up as the Headmaster entered the room, but his arms trembled too much for him to support himself. Harry tried not to blush as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at his failure.

"Why, how are you feeling, Mister Potter?" The Headmaster asked smoothly, as if it was a common occurrence that Harry was in the hospital. Then again, with Harry, it was.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated automatically, this time flushing at his mentor's stare. Feeling both his neck and cheeks burning, he elaborated, despite the discomfort he was already feeling. "Um…lighter. Like I'm finally free."

At that, Dumbledore beamed. "You should be happy to know that none of your friends sustained serious injuries. Unlike yourself and Miss Nymphadora Tonks, they were able to be treated at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened as those words registered. His friends! He had forgotten about his friends! What horrible person forgot about something so important?

"There is no need to fret, my dear boy. The feeling of freedom that you have received from the death of Voldemort is very strong; it would not be amiss to be dwelling on that instead of others. Indeed, you do think of others quite a bit."

Harry felt himself relax at his Headmaster's words, but then his shoulders stiffened. Dumbledore seemed to be reading his mind. At that, Harry tried not to scowl. Even if he had been using Legilimency, Snape hadn't really taught him how to stop it.

At that thought, he struggled to sit back up again and failed. However, he was too jittery to care, and he plowed right into his words. "So Snape summoned the Order? Did everything work out alright?" Harry felt the dread curl in his stomach again. "The prophecy…it shattered. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to…"

Dumbledore interrupted, eyes twinkling madly. "Yes, _Professor_ Snape alerted the Order, and we all arrived. Six Death Eaters were captured, including Bellatrix LeStrange, and Voldemort was defeated, as you should know, my child." Harry felt the blush returning. "As for the prophecy, it was fulfilled when Voldemort fell, so it was no longer important."

Harry felt something nibbling on the corners of his brain. At last, he had it. "So, you knew what the prophecy said?"

The Headmaster nodded, for one instant looking his age. "I have known the prophecy since before you were marked, my dear boy. It was my duty to tell you, but I wanted to give you a chance at a childhood, without such a burden on your shoulders. When you had successfully learned Occlumency and it was safe from Voldemort, I would have told you. If you wish, I could tell…"

Harry cut him off, as a great weariness set upon him. He knew he should be angry, but the fury that had been in him was gone, vanquished with Voldemort. If he had known the prophecy, he wouldn't have gone to the Department of Mysteries and Sirius wouldn't have died… but then, Voldemort would still be out there. Even if he had known the outcome beforehand, he probably would have chosen the same path. It was a hard choice, between what was right and what was easy, and even without all the background knowledge, he had made it. Harry had never felt so old before, so disillusioned, but he knew the sacrifice that had been given for him to live, and he had chosen to take it.

"There's no need. It's over. I don't want to know."

Dumbledore's face flashed surprise, but then the kindly grandfather was back in its stead. "Very well, my boy. Are you up for some politics?"

Harry heard the Floo surge again and met the Headmaster's eyes. "I probably don't have a choice anyway," he replied dryly.

"Mister Potter! A word if you…Dumbledore, how _wonderful _to see you," the Minister said as he bounced into the room, skidding to a stop at seeing the older wizard.

"Cornelius, good to see you. How are the preparations for the Awards Ceremony progressing?"

"Awards Ceremony?" Harry asked, feeling the dread returning to his stomach. He was just a good of a seer as Trelawney was, which was saying not good at all, but he predicted that the Awards Ceremony was going to involve him…and the press. Harry _loathed _the press and any notoriety that went with it.

"Oh yes," Fudge continued happily, either not noticing or ignoring the look on Harry's face. "We've decided that for your acts of heroism, every fighter against He-Who-Was-Vanquished shall be awarded with the Order of Merlin. Of course, since you are the Boy-Who-Triumphed, you will be given the Order of Merlin, First Class, as well as many other prestigious awards and gifts."

Harry felt his mouth run dry. "The Boy-Who-Triumphed?" He questioned, hoping he heard wrong, but knowing he didn't.

"Ah yes, it's the Prophet's new name for you, since you defeated You-Know-Who. It _is _quite wonderful, isn't it?" Harry did not give a reply. Fudge did not seem to be waiting for one, because he maintained his steady spew of drivel, bouncing on the edge of the chair next to the bed. Harry hadn't noticed that both men had sat down. "As for your friends, Misters Weasley and Longbottom, Misses Granger, Weasley and Lovegood, and the entire Order of the Phoenix, they will all receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class."

Harry found this a good time to interrupt. "Second Class? Why aren't they getting First Class?"

Fudge smiled at him patronizingly. Harry wanted to hit him. "Only those who physically faced You-Know-Who receive the Order of Merlin, First Class. Therefore, only Dumbledore and you will get that award."

Despite himself, Harry could not stop the words that followed. "What about Snape? He was a spy, and faced Voldemort all the time."

Fudge stopped, at a loss for words. Dumbledore flashed Harry an amused grin, which did nothing to stop the horrified fascination that his own words had given him. "As I have been telling you Cornelius, Severus deserves an award of the same caliber. If Harry himself has said so, then it must be true."

"But…but…but…" Fudge was red and spluttering.

"And Harry is the Boy-Who-Triumphed, so his word should be taken on the matter. Isn't that right, my dear boy?"

Harry closed his jaw. Apparently it was possible to shock yourself into silence. He hadn't known where the words had come from, let alone the idea of awarding _Snape,_ of all people. He felt slightly sick just thinking about it. "Erm…yeah. That's what I said."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Well then, it is settled. Cornelius, is there anything else you need to talk about? Medi-witch Vesper is giving us the evil eye." Indeed, the portly nurse from before was glaring at two of the most politically powerful wizards in England as if they were nothing more than schoolboys.

"Yes, a few more things. They will take but a moment. Mister Potter, the Department of Mysteries is wondering what spell you used to vanquish You-Know-Who. It was unlike anything we have ever seen before."

Harry looked at Dumbledore beseechingly, more than slightly confused, but at his nod, he attempted to answer the question anyway. "Well, I went through his mind and then weakened him, and then he died." Harry supposed his summary was a bit lacking, but he honestly had no idea what he did, and he was suddenly too tired to elaborate.

Fudge's grin widened, growing slightly maniacal. He leaned forward, as if waiting to hear a powerful secret. "Well, what words did you say? What spells did you use?"

Harry shrugged as best as he could while lying down. "I dunno. I just told him to die, and he did."

At that, the Minister paled, coughing uncomfortably a few times. After he had recovered, he asked a final question, his smile once again glittering flakily. "Is there anything in particular you want, Mister Potter? You have just defeated the darkest Lord of our time. It would be my _honor _to reward such efforts."

_"I just want to be left alone,"_ Harry thought irritably, before his godfather's image flashed in his mind's eye. With that firmly in mind, he stared at the Minister and declared, "I want Sirius Black's name cleared and to have him awarded an Order of Merlin…and I want Peter Pettigrew's award nullified."

The Minister nodded somberly, his eyes still gleaming. He looked a bit relieved that Harry had not asked anything else. "Done. The Black family will also receive reparations for Black's unlawful imprisonment. Is there anything else?" Harry shook his head minutely. At that, the Minister rose from the chair he had been perched on. "If that is all, then I must go. Things to do, people to see. It's not every day that a Dark Lord has been vanquished, and there is plenty more to do, despite the week's rest you have had. Good day, Mister Potter, Dumbledore."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore nodded in farewell, also rising as the other man hurriedly left the room. "He's such an excitable fellow…but he is right, and I must go as well. Harry, my child, I am sorry to say that you have missed the End of the Year Feast where, due to some heroic efforts, Gryffindor won the House Cup." He paused, his eyes growing old again. "However, there are Death Eaters still at large, and as it is now summer, I ask that you stay at your relative's until they are all caught. On the same note, as your friends will see you at the Awards Ceremony and as you are in a large amount of danger, I ask that you Floo directly to Arabella Figg's when you are released and to not send any owls."

Harry felt his previous joy from the defeat of Voldemort fading. "I…I understand, sir," he managed, though his throat seemed to be closing.

The old wizard's eyes were not twinkling. "I know this is difficult for you, Mister Potter, but we will all see each other again in five day's time. Please rest up and don't worry. Alas, I must go. Farewell, Mister Potter. I shall see you soon."

Harry watched the older man go, the ability to speak suddenly taken from him. He had defeated Voldemort, but he was still being controlled. He wasn't free at all, no matter what he did.

When the Medi-witch re-entered and gave him a vial of Dreamless Sleep, he said nothing and drained the glass without a thought. He did not want to dream that night. He was sure they would be nothing but restless nightmares.

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	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **My name is not JK Rowling. In fact, I'm not even British. Therefore, I regret to inform you that I don't own Harry Potter. I just own this amazingly fantastic plot idea thingamajigger. ...Indeed.

**Author's Note: **Well, here's an even longer chapter for you all. In case you were wondering, this chapter is dedicated to Bundibird, who actually is the one who got me to update so quickly because of such a wonderful review. Yay!

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It was at times like these that Harry hated Flooing. It was also at these times that he realized his life was messed up and that Fate just liked giggling at his dilemmas. Now that he had more time on his hands, with Voldemort gone and all, he could write a best-seller on the horrible, unbelievably awkward situations he got himself in, but he didn't want to be like Lockhart, and he didn't especially like to write.

Harry cut off his musings when he felt a large, meaty hand lift him into the air by his throat. He saw that Uncle Vernon was already an intriguing shade of red, going on purple, and would have started panicking, if not for the fact that he was probably in shock. He had no idea how he had ended up in the Dursley's fireplace, especially when it was not connected to the Floo network, but when it came to his life, anything was possible. His hypothesis about Fate hating him was cemented by the fact that, when he had Flooed into the Dursley's, by some freak chance, he had not only crashed into the electric fireplace (was that what he had hit his head on?), but he had interrupted a dinner party. By the look on Uncle Vernon's face, it was an important one.

"Boy…what…who…how…" Vernon was spluttering, which was a very bad sign. Even in his fog-filled mind, Harry knew that he was going to get the thrashing of his life. He supposed it really wasn't fair, with him defeating Voldemort and all, and with Fate hating him, but…

His rambling thoughts were interrupted by the wall, where Vernon had him pinned. His head cracked against it sharply, and his current situation smacked Harry in the face. No, wait... that was Uncle Vernon.

"You…lost…clients…" Vernon paused, his face darkening. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE FREAK!"

The first few hits always surprised him. For as long as he could remember, Harry had been slapped, hit, and swung at when he was at the Dursley's, but he had never been beaten. Sure, Vernon had gotten mad enough to kill him, but Petunia always stepped in. When he had been younger, he had imagined that she did so because she cared for him, but once she attempted to hit him with a frying pan, he knew otherwise.

"Vernon! Vernon! VERNON!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. Harry didn't know when she had entered the living room, but apparently it had been after Vernon had started, because he felt blood dribbling down his chin.

"_Huh, Vernon never hit my face after I started Hogwarts. He must be really mad."_

"Pet, _**he**_ lost us the Petrulli case!" Vernon snarled, accentuating each word with a shake. Harry hoped that his uncle would stop soon, because if he didn't, he was going to vomit all over his expensive suit.

"Now Vernon, you know what those…" Petunia looked around furtively, lowering her voice, "…those _**freaks**_ would do if they saw him banged up."

"They're not going to see him until the end of the summer. He'll have time to heal; he always does." With that, Vernon raised his meaty paw again.

"I'm seeing them in five days."

Vernon paused, staring at Harry in consternation. Petunia gazed at her nephew in growing horror. Harry, somewhere beneath his daze, realized that his mouth had spurted off again. He knew he should feel dread (no one EVER spouted off to Vernon. It only doubled the punishment, if he was lucky) but he noticed that Vernon lowered his hand. Therefore, in this instance, talking back was permitted. Harry allowed himself to babble on.

"There's an awards ceremony I have to go to. I did off Voldemort," Harry added, eyes wide. "And they're gonna pick me up in five days. I'm not supposed to send owls, and my wand was taken by the DOM for study, but I have a replacement wand and stuff. It doesn't work too well and I'm not supposed to use it, but I can if the Death Eaters come to kill me. Other than that, wands are a no-no. So basically," at this, Harry wanted to wave his hands dramatically, but he was still pinned, "I can't be a wizard for five days." With that, Harry grinned, not realizing that with his speech, he had doomed himself.

Vernon was swirling through colors again. However, somewhere between magenta and fuchsia, his eyes gleamed. Without warning, he dropped his nephew to the floor, who landed with a thud. Saying nothing, he whirled around and went over to the telephone, rapidly punching in numbers.

"Boy, go clean yourself up," Petunia sniffed, casting a disapproving look at her nephew. Harry did not know how it was his fault that Vernon smacked him around, but he was too disoriented to care. It took a few tries to get up the stairs and more than five minutes to wash his face. By the time Harry had stumbled down the stairs, Vernon had put the phone away, and he was grinning rather evilly.

"Boy, since Moldyshorts is gone, there is no reason for you to stay in this house. I have clothed you, fed you and housed your ungrateful, freakish hide for far too long and I'm not going to put up with it any longer. I've just called an associate of mine, whose good-for-nothing son opened a café and needs help. I've volunteered your services, and so you are going to be staying there for the summer. You are going to work there, and work hard, and hopefully I'll never have to see such a pathetic excuse of a nephew ever again. We have never wanted you, you know that, and we all would have been better off not knowing you. As of this moment, you are not related to us and never have been. Are we clear?"

Harry felt himself gaping. While Vernon had been crude, his voice was oily, as if he was talking to one of his clients, but there had been the underlying threat to his words. Even as concussed as he was, Harry was not stupid. He knew he could not contact his friends and he was at his uncle's mercies. If Vernon wanted to send him to wherever, Harry would have to go, or else face the consequences.

Besides, his uncle was right. No one wanted him here, at the Dursley's, and they both would be better off ignoring each other's existence. After a moment's pause, he smiled lopsidedly.

"Okay," he blurted, nodding eagerly. He ignored his aunt's sigh of disgust and dopily gazed at his uncle. "When can we go?"

As Vernon drove him away from the Dursley's, Harry gazed at the place where he had once lived, but had never been his home. _"I guess I have no home now,"_ Harry mused, watching the buildings blur past him. He didn't know whether it was an effect of the concussion or not, but as he thought those words, he felt a snap and his skin tingled for an instant. He would have pondered that for a long time, but after a few moments, he fell asleep.

Harry awoke to someone shaking him. His eyes shot open, which caused him to blink rapidly at the lights beaming in his face. He felt someone bludgeoning his head with an ice-pick, but that could have just been his headache. Either way, his eyes were tearing, and he couldn't make anything escape his lips but a pathetic gurgle.

"Oh, stop your whining," a voice snarled in his ear. For a moment, a picture of a large, beefy man flashed into his mind's eye, but it was gone with a flash of white as the pain hit him again. Harry would have been curious to why his head hurt so badly, but thinking hurt a little too much for him to care.

Right when the pain climaxed, Harry felt the warm tingle spread across his skin, and a symphony of sounds assailed his mind. The noise and the power consumed him but, abruptly, it stopped. Thankfully, with its absence, the pain left as well.

"Wha… what the bloody hell was that? I thought I told you not to do any _**freaky**_ stuff!" The voice was loud and brass, but Harry sensed the man's unease and fear.

"Dunno. Want to sleep." He mumbled, nuzzling the armrest beneath him, fatigue washing over him.

"F-f-fine. Stay here and sleep. I'll get everything settled, and then I'll never have to see you again," the man mumbled under his breath.

Harry was already asleep.

"Harry… son… wake up, _please_."

For once, Harry did not drift about on his way to consciousness; instead, he shot awake. One moment, he was asleep, the next, he was wide awake.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, his mouth tasting like paste. He opened his eye warily, seeing the visage of his uncle and a younger man. Both were staring at him awkwardly through the open car door.

"It's me…son," he heard his uncle add lamely. "We're here. Are you ready to get settled in?" His uncle's voice was eerily pleasant, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have said that Vernon actually cared for him. It was rather disconcerting, but Harry played along.

"Of course, Uncle Vernon. I can't wait." Harry swung his legs off the seat, almost falling over when they reached the ground faster than he thought. Medi-witch Vesper had treated him with many potions for malnourishment; without them, he would have died. Apparently, his magic had been supporting his body for years and, when he had used all the magic in his core, he had almost died without it. The logical solution had been to fix his body so that his magic would not have to support him; in doing so, it had corrected what the Dursley's diet had done to him. While he had only grown an inch or two so far, the Medi-witch assured him that he would see dramatic changes in his body and magic for a few weeks, until his body was completely healthy.

"Oh, hello. You must be my new boss?" He smiled, absently noticing that his face did not hurt in that action. Somehow, his face must have healed in the few hours he was asleep. He didn't know how it did, but he just chalked it up to the potions still in his system.

The younger man looked startled for a moment, actually jumping in the air, before he settled himself. He nodded, face stern. Despite his solemn attitude, Harry knew, somehow, that he was fighting back a grin.

"Yes, I am your new employer. You will call me Sir at all times; is that understood?" The man questioned firmly.

Harry made his smile fade, though he was fighting back a laugh. Obviously, the man knew how his uncle truly felt about him, and was acting appropriately. He could see his uncle's eyes gleaming with suppressed happiness, which he attempted, and failed, to cover with a caring expression.

"I hope this is a learning experience, son, about how the real world works. I hope you are on your best behavior; I don't want to hear any reports about you," Vernon stated, eyes conveying a message. It was clear enough; I never want to see or hear of you again, you ungrateful freak.

Harry nodded somberly, though his insides were twisting with emotions. "I understand, Uncle. I'll be on my best behavior."

"That's a good boy," his uncle told him, patting him on the back roughly…a bit too roughly, in Harry's opinion. "I've already got your stuff inside, so I guess I'll be leaving."

After a quick exchange of meaningless platitudes, in which all three men lied through their teeth, Vernon drove away. Harry watched the car round the corner of a street he had never seen before, and then it disappeared from sight.

That was it. It was a very anti-climactic end to his life with the Dursleys and Harry did not know what to feel. His only family thought he was worthless and decided to get rid of him, and had never wanted him in the first place. They delighted in his pain, and caused it too, and true family wouldn't do that, he knew that much. There was a raw place in his heart that cried out against these injustices, a part that was scarred from the hatred he had been raised in, a part that wished they could have loved him… but Harry had known, since he was little, that they had never loved him, and never would.

And yet, part of him was strangely light. He would never have to go back to the Dursley's and no one would ever make him. No one _could_ ever make him. He was disowned and, while that was not really a good thing, he was finally free. Voldemort was gone, the Dursleys were gone, and Harry didn't have to put up with either of them again.

The raw part of him wept bitterly, but Harry ignored it, reveling in his reacquired freedom. _"I'm my own family now," _he thought, _"and I'm my own man. I can be who I want to be, and no one, not the Dursleys or Dumbledore or Voldemort, can change that. I'm free and I __**will**__ stay that way."_

The noise of someone clearing their throat brought him out of his wandering thoughts. Harry spun around abruptly, realizing his new employer was still with him. Despite himself, he felt his cheeks redden.

"Err… sorry about that. I got lost in my thoughts," he mumbled, staring at his shoes. How could he have forgotten that the other man was still there? He must have looked like a right fool, just staring off into the distance for no good reason.

"It's quite alright. While we're apologizing to each other, I would like to say sorry for my somewhat stern behavior earlier. It just seemed as that was what your uncle wanted, and so I felt I would oblige him."

Harry straightened, soothed by the calm voice, and shifted his eyes from the ground to the other man's gaze. The man in front of him was young, twenty-five at the most, and seemed rather comfortable in his own skin. His hair was a light brown, falling gently into warm blue eyes, and his skin was brushed with color. His facial features were common enough: a strong jaw, long nose, and high forehead, but together, they made him seem more than the average person. Harry did not like blokes, but even he could see that the man in front of him wasn't half-bad looking, especially with his broad shoulders and muscular frame.

"By the way, you don't have to call me sir. I'm Reilly Cathaway, but you can just call me Reilly. And I believe your name was Harold?"

Harry began to nod dumbly before he stopped himself. "Oh no, not Harold. I'm Harry, Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you, Reilly."

"It's nice to meet you too, Harry. I suppose you'll need to get a tour of where you are working. Now, your uncle said that you could do some manual labor, but he also surprised me when he said you could cook a few things."

Harry felt himself flush again. He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, well, I can make a few things…" He trailed off, disconcerted by the large grin spreading over Reilly's face.

"Really? Now that would make things a lot easier; we need someone to help Sophia, that's our part-time cook, until our normal cook gets here. Have you ever worked before? As a waiter, or a cook or something?"

"Err… not really. I just have done my chores and stuff." Harry's embarrassment and unease was starting to wear off; Reilly's casual, optimistic attitude was contagious. "…But I'll try my best?"

"Excellent! That's all I wanted to hear." With that, he swung his arms over Harry's shoulders, who stiffened, unused to the contact. Reilly ignored his discomfort and led him inside a small, quaint building, which was labeled "Cathaway's Café."

Harry felt his hackles lowering, as Reilly began his tour. Since it was one in the afternoon, the café was packed, but no one paid the pair a second glance. Reilly lead him through the crowd of people, weaving carelessly between wooden tables and red-padded booths. He stopped here and there, to explain the pictures on the walls, or to point out a specific customer (for instance, Mrs. Doherty was the typical cat lady of the small town, which Harry still didn't know the name of, and Bruce Riggings was a kindly man who owned the maintenance shop next door).

Reilly dragged Harry behind the wooden bar, where a young man in an apron, who was wearing extraordinary tight black pants, was chatting up the young women he was serving.

"Blake…Blake…Blake!" Reilly called, finally poking the teen in the back. The teen turned, eyes glaring.

Blake seemed to be the typical rebellious punk; his hair was multi-colored and spiked, excluding the bangs hanging in eyes too bright to be natural, and he had multiple piercings. From what Harry saw, he had two in his right eyebrow, four in his right ear, and one in his lip. His shirt's sleeves were ripped off, exposing thin but muscular arms, and his pants accentuated his thin figure. Harry supposed that he was attractive, in a bad boy kind of way, especially because the girls in the café kept glancing at him and giggling.

"This is Harry. He's going to be staying here this summer, and he'll be helping you and Sophia. His room is across from yours, so could you show him around?"

Harry's insides froze. Reilly was going to leave him with the angry teenager? It was obvious that Blake didn't want to be bothered; his face was set in a scowl and his glare was almost rivaling Snape's at his worst.

"Fine, but we'll have to get him something to wear other than…_that._" Blake's expression was not very flattering, and Harry felt himself bristle. He was wearing his school uniform, minus the robes and tie, and he didn't think he looked as bad as Blake was making him seem. He, at least, didn't look like some stupid punk.

"Well, if Harry wants to wear that, than that's his prerogative, but those clothes aren't very…flattering," Reilly amended, throwing an apologetic glance Harry's way. "However, you and Harry are about the same size, so maybe he could borrow some of your clothes for now."

Harry was sure his face was showing his horror, for Blake smirked at him. "I think that's an excellent idea. Follow me, _Harry."_

•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•HP•

**A/N: **BUM BUM BUMMMM!


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